A confession: when you’re out, sometimes I lie on your bed and bury my face in your bedsheets. Huffing the lingering scent of summer sweat like it’s perfumed roses or myrrh or forty-quid wine. I am creepy, so of course I sniff your bedsheets. And that’s not all I do.

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Today’s guest blog comes in the form of some sad and beautiful heartbroken poems. Huge thanks to SN, who dropped me an email last week with these. I hope you find them as touching as I did.

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Are you on the verge of falling in love? Is there someone you look at who makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve suddenly taken a deep lungful of air at the top of a mountain and you have to look around for a bench or a rock to sit down on in case you topple off? Yeah, don’t fall in love with them. Run the fuck away.

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Can’t believe I missed ‘rebound fuck’ off the emotional fucks series. If you’re new to this, I’ve been doing some short erotic fiction pieces exploring different types of fuck – spite fuck, revenge fuck, grief fuck and more. Here’s some about the much-maligned rebound fuck.

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There are three parts to this story. You don’t have to believe them all. In fact, if you don’t believe any of them it doesn’t matter much to me. There are many of you I love and respect, but few who I rely on for the kind of intimacy I’d expect of a partner or friend. But if you’re my friend, my lover, or anyone else who cares about me, I need you to believe me when I tell you about my life.

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